Last Goodbye
by rittenden
Summary: Charliecentric. Tissue warning. CD


A/N: I've given this story an 'M' rating only because doing so ensures it won't show up on the default settings. This oneshot contains a character death. If you don't like that... well, you've been warned.

**Last Goodbye**

Charlie hummed as he picked up his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I won't be home for supper," he called to his father. "I'm not sure how late I'll be, though."

"Oh?" Alan asked, drying his hands on a towel as he entered the room.

"Yeah… stuff to do, and then I've got a meeting to attend." Charlie shrugged and headed for the door, his keys jangling. "If you need anything, just call me, okay?"

Alan nodded, turning back to the kitchen. "Will do," he replied easily.

**123454321**

Charlie kept humming on his way to CalSci. It was a beautiful spring day – too early in the year to be obscured by smog, the sky was so clear and blue it almost glittered. As he drove, his mind wandered to the plans he and his friends were making for Larry's return in a few weeks' time. It was supposed to be a surprise party but – as Megan observed – Larry would probably expect them to throw a party on his return, so the 'surprise' really wouldn't be. It didn't matter, though: Larry was coming home and that was all Charlie cared about.

He looked at the scenery whizzing by as he drove down the interstate, pleased to see trees beginning to bloom. _Life's starting all over again,_ he mused. _God, I love spring._

Once at the prestigious university, he was quickly immersed in his work and the day passed by much like the drive over. He finally ushered the last student out the door and gathered his things together.

His meeting was long but not boring. The school's faculty was organizing a fund drive for one of its pet charities and was looking for genuine input from the mathematics department. Charlie and Amita talked animatedly for over an hour about their ideas, pleased when they were actually accepted without much opposition.

He took Amita out for supper afterwards and they rehashed the meeting, congratulating each other on their success. Several toasts and a decadent dessert later, they agreed that a cab would be wise and shared one to Amita's apartment, where Charlie spent the next three hours saying good night.

By the time he left, his wine buzz was wearing off, so Charlie directed the driver to the restaurant. He collected his car and drove home, humming once again.

**123454321**

Charlie woke the next morning feeling a little hung-over and not a little pleased with himself. He pushed off the mattress and headed for the shower, determined to make today just as successful as yesterday.

It wasn't until he stepped out of the bathroom, toweling his hair, that Charlie sensed something was amiss. The house was quiet – too quiet for a Saturday morning. Sliding into jeans and a t-shirt, he padded barefoot down the stairs in search of his father.

A quick tour of the downstairs informed him that the house was empty. Puzzled, Charlie checked the fridge for a note and, not finding any, raced back up the stairs to his father's room. The older man's bed had obviously been slept in – and looked to have been hurriedly abandoned. Charlie felt a small frisson of fear coil in the pit of his stomach. He dashed out of the room and into his own, tossing aside papers and carelessly-discarded clothing in search of his cell phone.

The battery was fully charged and there weren't any messages waiting. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. _If something had happened, someone would have called me,_ he thought. _So everything must be okay._ He looked around his messy room and smiled. _I've really got to pick up this mess soon – Dad's going to have a fit one of these days._

**123454321**

Striding into the bullpen at the FBI office, Charlie glanced around for a familiar face. He shivered a little at the tension that permeated the room. Something was definitely off. Deciding the best way to find out would be to seek out one of Don's team, Charlie moved quickly through the office, glancing into the conference rooms.

None of their friends were to be found, however, and Charlie briefly toyed with the idea of asking the SAC or one of the other agents where they'd gone. He immediately vetoed the notion – if Don's team were in the field, they wouldn't appreciate Charlie tracking them down like an itinerant pet. He shook his head in exasperation and headed out of the office.

**123454321**

Charlie stood at the side of the freeway with a large crowd of people and stared at the wreckage of a huge tractor-trailer unit. Truth be told, it should have been called a 'tractor-trailer-trailer' unit, because the massive highway rig was actually towing _two_ fifty-three-foot trailers behind it. At least, it had been.

Now the last trailer lay on its side, completely unhooked from the rest of the unit. The primary trailer stood at a right angle to the tractor, listing dangerously to the opposite side. If he looked carefully, Charlie could see the remains of a vehicle pinned underneath the middle of the trailer. Whatever it had been, the vehicle was now just a tangle of scorched metal and burnt rubber. Charlie shuddered at the thought of what the wreck would look like from the other side.

Raised voices drew his attention and Charlie stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the crowd to where the commotion was coming from. A small group of people stood near the cab of the tractor and some sort of struggle seemed to be going on between two factions. A large man wearing a red-and-black plaid jacket was being held by a couple of other men. _No, not held,_ Charlie thought. _Guarded._

The other group seemed to emit the most passion. There were at least three men holding back a fourth, who seemed intent on getting his hands on the man opposite. Charlie couldn't see clearly through the throng of onlookers, but the struggling figure looked vaguely familiar and he paced the edge of the crowd, searching for a way through.

After a few minutes of fruitlessly trying to press through the group of people in front of him, Charlie finally worked his way around the perimeter of the growing mass of bodies to where the argument was still going on. He recognized a few faces almost immediately – Megan, David, Colby – and his brow furrowed in thought. _Why would they be at an accident scene?_ Charlie mused. _Unless the contents of that truck were extremely important…_

"You've got to get a hold of yourself!" A single voice penetrated Charlie's thoughts and he blinked in confusion. _Dad?_ Charlie moved closer. It was, indeed, his father, standing with both hands firmly braced against another man's shoulders, holding him back. Charlie studied the man's back, noting the square, tense set of his shoulders, the ramrod-straight spine, the clenched fists at his sides. Charlie's eyes traveled up to the back of the man's head to familiar short, spiky dark hair. _Don?_

Charlie opened his mouth to call out when the small group shifted, exposing the wreckage on the other side. The words died in his throat as he recognized a small, blue car.

_No._

The voices were clearer to him now. Don's was choked with emotion – something Charlie hadn't heard since their mother died. A closer look at his father's face revealed tears streaming down the older man's pale cheeks. Alan seemed to have aged twenty years in the twenty-four hours since Charlie had seen him last. Charlie's feet propelled him forward of their own accord, stopping only when he was standing next to his father. He turned to look at the others gathered in front of the older man.

Megan had been crying, too, obviously. Colby's face was a mask of grief, held in check only through sheer willpower. David's face was a little harder to see, since the agent was hiding it behind his hand. Don's was the most terrifying, though. It radiated pure, unadulterated fury and a measure of sorrow the likes of which Charlie had never seen on his brother's face before. It surpassed even the expression the older man had worn when Charlie accidentally stumbled across him after their mother's funeral. Don had sequestered himself in the solarium to mourn in private, unbeknownst to Charlie, who had opened the door fractionally when he'd heard muffled noises coming from their mother's favorite retreat. He'd taken one look at Don, curled up on the white wicker chaise Margaret Eppes had loved, his body wracked with sobs, and quietly withdrew. He'd never told their father or Don about the incident. Somehow it seemed far too private.

Now Don's pain was out in the open, at least to Charlie. He wanted to run to his brother and hold him in his arms – to help him release the sorrow and anger that held him captive. He knew Don would resent it, though, and Charlie felt growing unease at the thought that, had Don allowed it, he still wouldn't be able to.

Dread welling in his chest, Charlie moved away from the group toward the wreckage. Most of the car was buried under the trailer, but the back end of the vehicle was still ironically intact. He stared down at the license plate and let the tears flow freely down his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one. "I'm so very, very sorry." He turned back to his mourning friends and family. "Don… Dad… please… forgive me… I thought…" His voice broke on a sob and he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his body as he fought for breath he didn't need. "Oh God… Megan… Colby… David…" He let out a wail of grief. "Amita! _No!_ I'm sorry! Larry – please God, no."

"Charlie."

He looked up through a veil of tears. "Mom?"

Margaret smiled gently. "Charlie, baby… it's okay… come on, honey…" She reached out a hand, the fingers pale and almost translucent. "Come on, Charlie… Get up now…"

"Mom…" Charlie wept. "I'm sorry…"

"Come on, Charlie," Margaret repeated. "Let's go…"

"No! Not yet!"

Margaret lifted her arm and Charlie's eyes followed her pointing finger. The tractor-trailer was gone, as was the freeway and the wreckage and the group of onlookers. Instead, they were surrounded by rolling green hills and towering trees. Charlie recognized the area immediately. "My favorite hiking trail," he whispered. A small group of people stood on the path, dressed somberly. "What's going on?"

His mother replied, "They're saying goodbye, Charlie – as must you."

Charlie turned to where his brother stood beside a marble pedestal half his height. On its face was a brass plaque with Charlie's name engraved upon it and a small inscription: From his beloved students. "I don't pretend to know what he was thinking that night," Don was saying. Amita choked back a sob. _She blames herself,_ Charlie thought numbly. _She thinks it's her fault…_ "But I _do_ know that although he was a genius, my brother was also human," Don went on. "And therefore just as capable of making a mistake as the next person." He looked down at the plaque and then up to the sky. "I forgive you, Buddy," Don went on, tears coursing down his face. "I forgive you and… I miss you."

Charlie looked at the people gathered around him. All of his friends were here, including Larry – _isn't he supposed to be in space?_ – and they nodded at Don's words. Megan stood at Larry's side, leaning her head against his shoulder. Amita stood with his father and Alan had one arm wrapped around her shoulders comfortingly. David and Colby stood on Alan's other side, stoic and resolute. Every line of their faces read 'I will not break down in front of these people' and Charlie almost laughed out loud.

"Ready to go?" Margaret asked softly.

Charlie shook his head. "One more minute."

"Be quick," she replied. "It'll be easier on them."

Nodding, Charlie moved to stand in front of Amita. He stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her. Amita gasped and he drew back, smiling when her eyes widened and her fingers flew to her lips.

"What is it, my dear?" Alan asked quietly. Charlie moved to him and caressed the side of his face. The older man's eyes drifted shut and he smiled. "My boy," he whispered. "I love you, Charlie."

"I love you, too, Dad," Charlie whispered back. He turned to Larry and Megan. They were holding hands, so Charlie covered theirs with his own. "Take care of each other," he murmured. The couple blinked and exchanged a bewildered look.

Colby took an involuntary step backward when Charlie clasped his hand. David merely smiled. "Good bye, Charlie," he whispered.

Charlie smiled back and turned to his brother. Don had been watching his friends' reactions with concern. "What is it?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

Alan stepped forward. In a soothing voice he replied "Charlie's saying goodbye, Don. Just be still… and _feel."_

"What?" Don gasped as Charlie ran his hand over his brother's brow, smoothing out the lines of worry there. Then Charlie wrapped his arms around Don's shoulders and squeezed as hard as he could. "Charlie…" Don whispered, his voice breaking. "Charlie."

Charlie lifted his head and spoke directly into Don's ear. "I love you, bro."

Don staggered when Charlie let go of him, bracing himself on the marble pedestal. "Oh God… Charlie…" he sobbed. Amita rushed forward to help him, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm sorry, Don," Charlie said. He turned to Alan. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"It's alright, son," the older man whispered, his eyes searching for some sign of his presence. "I forgive you. Go – say hello to your mother for me."

Charlie looked around one last time. "I love you," he said to them all. "I'm sorry."

Margaret slipped her fingers into his hand and tugged gently. "Charlie," she said. "It's time."

"I know." He cast one last look at them all and then let himself be led away.


End file.
